


The Spar

by sherpace_writes



Category: The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Genre: M/M, Oscar Wilde References, old-fashioned boyfriends, sword-fighting except they're actually flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 09:52:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17201294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherpace_writes/pseuds/sherpace_writes
Summary: “Ready?” Sherman murmured, his voice soft in a way that made Malcolm’s heart skip a beat. He swallowed and licked his lips.“For you,” he replied, “always.”Malcolm Pace has forgotten what it was like to have a peaceful afternoon. But hey, if it's Sherman Yang interrupting him, who is he to say no?





	The Spar

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to @rueqard on Twitter for getting me into this rarepair to begin with! Bold of Rick to assume we'd let the minimal interaction in canon stop us.  
> This is a fairly short fic, but hopefully, it's something you'll enjoy!

_**You smiled,**_  
_**and** **at** **that moment I knew,**_  
_**oh, I knew —**_  
_**that I would**_  
_**raise hell to see that smile again.**_

* * *

 “A good friend will always stab you in the front.”

“You stole that from Oscar Wilde, didn’t you?”

“...I may or may not be guilty.”

“Yang, are you trying to tell me that you want to spar?”

Sherman unsheathed his sword, flashing him a cheeky smile.

“Depends,” he said, cocking his head, “Can you handle it?”

Malcolm resisted the urge to snort. He let out a resigned sigh and closed his book, setting it aside on the grass. Maybe if he got this over with quick enough, he’d retrieve it before any nosy nymph stole it. At least, he hoped; he wanted to sneak Sherman the book later.

But at the same time...he didn’t _want_ this to end so soon. Sparring with Sherman Yang, the only son of Ares with a decent taste in literature, happened to be one of his favourite things to do. There was something about the way he stood; the way he would dart back and forth, his sword flashing under the sun, jabbing here and swiping there...No other child of Athena would admit it, but Sherman was a challenge even for them.

“Can I handle it?” Malcolm echoed, breathing out a laugh. He stood up, folding his arms over his chest. “I think I’m the only one capable of handling you, Sherman Yang.”

Sherman gave him a boyish grin, clearly pleased. He raised his sword. Malcolm slipped out his own — out of all the available weapons, he was never without his trusty bronze sword, _Axioprépeia_. It kept him at a safe distance while enabling him to cause a lot of damage. Often, his opponent wouldn’t see the sword coming until it sliced their head clean off.

“Ready?” Sherman murmured, his voice soft in a way that made Malcolm’s heart skip a beat. He swallowed and licked his lips.

“For you,” he replied, “always.”

Sherman charged first.

It always astounded Malcolm, how smoothly Sherman could move. If he blinked at the wrong time, he could end up behind him and Malcolm wouldn’t know until it was too late.

He ducked, and the sword missed him by an inch. Malcolm stepped forward and slashed in a wide arc, but Sherman’s blade met his own and they moved back, their eyes never leaving the other.

“Too slow,” Malcolm taunted, tilting his head to the side. Sherman arched an eyebrow.

“I’m still messing with you,” he admitted, an amused twinkle in his eye. “Wouldn’t want to catch you off-guard.”

“You can’t catch a son of Athena off-guard, I promise you that.”

Sherman smirked. “Oh, really?”

He charged again, feigning an attack before changing directions last minute, but Malcolm caught his sword and pushed him back easily.

Sherman rolled his shoulders. “Not bad.”

“‘Not bad’?” Malcolm scoffed, “Are you trying to insult me? I deserve a better compliment than that.”

“...Then earn it,” Sherman said, and this time charged abruptly. Metals clashed with an ear-splitting screech, but neither of them stopped. Sherman jabbed at Malcolm's chest but he parried the blow. The son of Ares was alarmingly quick on his feet, changing positions every second, his sword trying to get past his defence from all sides. It was making Malcolm almost dizzy, trying to follow his every move, so he decided to trust his ears instead, dodging whenever he heard a sharp _WHISH_.

Their spar went on for longer than Malcolm had anticipated; they were both panting by the time Sherman finally managed to slip past his defences.

It happened too quick for Malcolm to change tactics. Sherman had advanced swiftly, his sword glinting under the sunlight, a rather attractive grin on his face — perhaps that was what had distracted him — and backed him up against a tree. The tip of his sword poked his chin, lifting it slightly.

Sherman looked at him in a way that made Malcolm’s cheeks redden. His eyes were half-lidded, his lips parted slightly, his hair dishevelled in a messy, charming way. Malcolm’s own sword almost slipped from his grip.

“...Well,” Sherman whispered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “This is not what I’d predicted.”

Malcolm pursed his lips, hoping his cheeks weren’t as warm as they felt. “I’ll admit that you exceeded my expectations, Yang.”

“Or perhaps you’re losing your touch, Pace.”

“Don’t you dare go there.”

Sherman laughed softly. “You’re not exactly in a position to make threats.”’

Oh, Malcolm would die for that smile. For that laugh.

For _him_.

He’d never been this happy with someone’s sword pointed at him.

“...This —  _ow_!”

Sherman’s smile dissipated, and he cursed under his breath as he stepped back.

“Shit, Malcolm, I didn’t mean…”

Malcolm felt his sword in his fingers again. His other hand gingerly touched his chin; his fingers came out blood-stained.  
Somehow, Sherman’s sword had slipped and cut his chin.

Malcolm tried to assume a serious expression, but what came out was a surprised laugh.

“You are such a dork, Sherman,” he concluded, wiping the blood from his chin. “And this fight isn’t over yet.”

Sherman’s expression relaxed. He smiled once more and it almost made Malcolm lose focus again.

“That’s what I like to hear, Pace.”

And with a loud cry, their swords met again in another heated clash.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Drop a comment if you're feeling up it ♡


End file.
